Taking Back the Number of the Beast
by monscandal
Summary: Ike is pretty stupid for a genius, and Kindergoth is a lightweight in combat boots.


Ike knew when he agreed to do it that skipping eighth grade would basically mean resigning himself to four years of getting the shit kicked out of him, but he'd figured that would probably happen anyway, what with the whole genius thing. What he hadn't figured on was being completely ignored.

Sure, he got shoved in the occasional locker, but so did everyone. The attention of his would-be tormentors was almost always diverted by some Goth kid who looked almost as young as Ike himself. It wasn't like he was complaining, but it was just sort of strange to be able to go about his daily life with little to no interference while some other kid got beaten up. It was awesome to almost fit in, and everything, but he couldn't help but feel kind of guilty, since he'd been on the receiving end of shit like that so many times. All of this might have been why he decided to interfere the next time he saw the kid getting beaten up, but probably it was just because he was completely batshit crazy.

A couple days later, Ike found three or four football guys kicking the Goth kid around behind the science building after school was over. One of them hit him in the stomach and he fell down, making a sort of wheezing noise but otherwise giving no indication that he registered what was going on. His eyes seemed kind of vacant.

Sighing at his own stupidity but knowing that he had no other choice, Ike walked forward and addressed the least menacing-looking one, who still looked pretty menacing.

"Hey," he said loudly, trying to appear as tall as possible. "Cut it out." The football guys looked at him for a few moments, and then simultaneously burst out laughing. After they were done laughing, they proceeded to kick the shit out of him and then beat on the other kid some more just for good measure.

Afterwards Ike leaned gingerly against a wall, wincing as he touched a rapidly-developing bruise on his jaw. The Goth kid leaned silently next to him. Ike thought maybe he had a black eye, but it could have just been eyeliner.

"Sorry," Ike said, rather miserably. "I thought maybe it would help."

The kid examined a scrape on his arm at length. "You're kind of a dumbshit, for a freaky genius kid," he said at last. Ike frowned.

"You're kind of a lightweight for someone wearing combat boots," he retorted without thinking about it.

The kid glanced over at him and Ike figured he'd just get offended and walk off and the whole thing would be an exercise in pointlessness. Instead, he smiled like Ike had pleasantly surprised him. "Yeah," he said. "Probably."

Behind the makeup and/or bruises, his eyes didn't look vacant at all anymore. He dug in the pocket of his black jeans and produced a cigarette, lighting up and then offering it to Ike.

"I don't smoke," Ike said, regarding the cigarette skeptically. The Goth kid laughed. He had sort of a nice laugh.

"They know who you are, now," the kid said, gesturing his dark head at where the football guys had been a couple minutes before. "You should probably start."

Ike shrugged and took an experimental drag, promptly breaking into a coughing fit. The Goth kid whacked him unhelpfully on the back a couple times, laughing all the while.

"Whatever," said Ike once he had recovered, scowling a little. "I'm in AP Calculus."

"I don't doubt it," the Goth kid responded seriously. He produced a phone out of the pocket of his jeans as well, glancing at the screen before stowing it back and handing the rest of his cigarette to Ike. "My ride's here. But maybe I'll see you around, or something." With that he was off, limping a little.

"Yeah," Ike replied rather stupidly, too late for the kid to hear him. He watched him walk away for a few moments before shaking his head and pulling out his own phone to call Kyle. He didn't realize that he still had the Goth kid's cigarette held between his fingers until his brother noticed and started yelling.

"You've only been in high school for a month and you're already a chain-smoking thug delinquent?" Kyle asked as he drove them home, by this point less angry than despairing.

Ike just smiled. "Yeah," he said. "Probably."


End file.
